A Portrait Speaks
by Mariel1
Summary: This is a Dark Cloud 2 fic. What happened to the relationship between Julia and Parn? What went wrong? This is what I think might have happened.


A Portrait Speaks

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Journal entry, first day of the fifth month…

"Parn's started on another picture of a woman. Says this time she'll be prettier than even me."

That is what I said to young Maximilian when he came to visit me in Veniccio. He and Monica are supposed to be able to save us all from the evil Emperor Griffin, but the true and bitter fact is that they can't save us from each other.

My name is Julia, and this is my first and only entry in this new journal I bought at Morton's Sundries. I hope that Parn sees this someday, for in it I write the things I cannot say, and maybe then he will know just exactly what he has done. I am not a bitter person. I don't want revenge…especially not against him. I just need to get this down on paper and out of my head before it drives me insane. 

Truly, it is odd to be putting pen to paper, just as Parn put brush to canvas…Perhaps this is because I was once a painting. Perhaps I should explain…

Parn is an aspiring artist who once lived in Palm Brinks, and now resides in Balance Valley. Not many would have called him handsome; he is rather tall and lanky, with hair like straw and a long, grizzled beard like that of a billy goat. He is not old, nor even middle aged, but he appears to be so because he is always so sad and drawn. His one true love was, and perhaps still is, painting. I don't know for sure; I haven't seen him in quite some time…

It might surprise you to know that there is a separate world from this one. Before I was brought here, I was with another Parn in another world, the world on the other side of the canvas, and we had planned to marry as soon as possible. This was the Parn who stood behind me in the painting, and the Parn in this world neglected to bring his alternate to life. I know, it is complicated. I myself was brought to life when Parn applied some sort of magic gold paint to my outline; he had received this paint from Maximilian, who had gone to the future to speak to Jurak, and just happened to find the paint in a bird's nest among some golden eggs…I know how this sounds; unbelievable, yes? But then again, I suppose a nest of golden eggs is no less believable than a painting coming to life…

The Parn in the painting…now, _he_ was a much different sort. He was _not_ an artist, but a musician. Why the Parn of this world painted himself holding a paint brush, I can only guess. Perhaps he posed in front of a mirror…but I digress. His alternate was also a rather serious man, but he knew how to make a joke every now and then. He often played for me on his lute, and was as sweet and graceful as I am beautiful. Little did I know that this Parn that I loved was merely another man's idea of his ideal self, and I was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. He made me to be beautiful. He made me to be 'perfect'. He made me for himself…I was nothing but a tool…

When he brought me to life…I hate that term, but I don't have a better one…I was, to say the least, confused. I recognized Parn, but not the place I was in. Immediately I came forward, and I saw a young boy standing beside him. I introduced myself, secretly hoping that the boy could explain what had happened, but he was all but thrown out of the house by Parn, who was beside himself with excitement.

Then Parn turned and grabbed hold of my shoulders. "Oh, Julia, Julia!" he kissed me over and over, and I returned the kisses at first, but then I pulled away. Why did he smell of paint thinner? Why were his eyes so wide and wild, his pupils so dilated? Did it matter? "Do you love me?" he asked, sounding breathless, desperate to hear a positive response.

"Of course I do, but…" he cut me off with another kiss, jamming his tongue down my throat and making me choke.

"Good," he said when we parted, not noticing how shocked I was. Parn never kissed me like that! This couldn't be the same man, could it? And he hadn't said that he loved me back…

"Wait, who are you?" I demanded, backing away.

"I'm Parn! Your fiancée, don't you know me?"

"I…you _look _like Parn…"

"Look," he took my hand gently, and pointed to the painting, where my image stood in front of his; my image was surrounded by a thin line of gold…his was not. "You see? I painted us together…I dreamed of you, and I fell in love with you. And I created our love right here…right on this canvas. Isn't it beautiful?" 

Did he mean our love, or his workmanship? I was never actually sure of that. And the next thing I said, oh, I was so wrong… 

"It _is_ you!" I whispered, touching his face.

He took me that day, that very hour. And, since I thought he was the man I had fallen in love with back in my world, I let him. He carried me up to his room, and undressed me so forcefully that my dress ripped at the bodice. He was panting and seemed not to notice, but I was upset. I had made that dress myself! And his hands were clumsy. They did caress, but they also pinched; he was being too rough. He could have at least bathed; he still smelled of turpentine, and now that he was naked, I realized that he hadn't bathed in days. And I was afraid; I thought it was agreed that we would wait until we were married to have sex, but he seemed determined. True, I had wanted this to happen, but not quite like this! I tried to be enthusiastic, but I was shy; it was happening so quickly, and I wasn't ready. His trusty spear was raised, and ready to be driven home…I am ashamed to be writing of this…I can't. I thought I could, but I can't. All I will say is that it hurt, since I was a virgin, and he didn't stop when I told him how he had hurt me. He just kept at it, telling me I was doing fine. Telling me he loved me, and would never hurt me, when that was just what he was doing. I didn't realize until later that he really _had _loved me, and he hadn't _known_ that he was really hurting me. He thought that all women enjoyed this, but I hear that the first time is rarely enjoyable for us. It was so with me.

And then he was done, and he saw the blood on me and on himself. And he panicked. He really _was_ ignorant on the subject of women. He knew every inch of the female body, as an artist must, but he had never known that virgins bled. He didn't even know about a woman's monthly time, which I had to tell him about another time he wanted to make love, so he couldn't attribute it to that. He rolled over, shocked and hyperventilating, and it was up to _me_ to comfort _him._ Who was this man, who resembled my love but was not, and who had become my lover? And how was it that I found myself so ready to accept him?

It was better the next time; he was more open to suggestions now that the first, massive flare of his passion was quenched. And truly, he wasn't a bad lover. Once we each learned what the other liked, it was actually quite enjoyable. And while I often thought of my true love back home, I found that I loved this Parn also. 

At first it was good, but after a while he seemed to be getting bored. He never even mentioned marriage. I was under the impression that that was what he had wanted in the beginning, but now he seemed to have changed his mind. That was what our first fight was about. He became annoyed, asking why he must marry me when I willingly gave him the love he needed. When I said that it was 'not _that_ willingly', and that I was given no choice in the matter, he flared up and yelled at me.

"What do you mean 'no choice'? You're a tigress in bed, don't tell me you don't enjoy it!"

"I only meant that I was happy back where I was!" I returned, "I loved him, and you took me away from him!"

"I _am_ him!" he thundered back.

"But I didn't say I don't love you too, I just think…"

"I told you, I _am _him! Don't say 'you too', because there is only one me! That is only a painting of me!"

"A painting of you and me! And there's a life on the other side, too. No, you are not him and he is not you! And the Goddess help me, I love you both!"

He drew himself up to his full height, and for a moment I thought he was going to hit me. Then he spun around and retreated to his studio. I followed him down, and I found him standing in front of our painting with a knife in his hand as if he would slash it. I froze. I couldn't move. Next he looked over at a blank canvas and then up at me. His lips tightened, and he slowly set down the knife. Then, taking up his paints and his brush, he proceeded to paint a new picture. And to ignore me. I thought it best to leave him alone, so I went out and bought the journal I'm writing in now; but when I came back hours later he was still at it, painting at a feverish pace.

"Parn?" I called, "Parn, come to bed. It's late."

He continue to paint as if he hadn't heard me. Tears trickled steadily down his cheeks, and they must have been doing so for hours; his eyes were so bloodshot that they didn't even look human. I touched his arm, and he barked, "No!" as if I were a dog! I backed away, and ran up the steps and threw myself onto the bed. Why was he doing this? I thought he loved me. I thought he brought me to life because he wanted me. And now that he had me, he wasn't happy. He wasn't satisfied. I realized that he had been trying to manufacture something within himself that couldn't be made and forced, and even though I loved him he was finding out that he didn't truly love me. For a man who strove for such perfection in himself, this was indeed a dismal failure.

A little later I heard him yell, "Damn!" And I heard a ripping sound and a crash. A little later I heard water running as he drew himself a bath, and after that he crawled naked between the covers with me and brushed my hair aside, kissing the back of my neck. He smelled sweetly of soap, but I was still upset, so I said nothing. Then he proceeded to reach around me, groping for my breasts.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"Let's make love." His voice was hoarse, almost grieved; he needed something, but it was almost as if he knew that this was not that thing, and he didn't even know what that thing was.

"I'm tired."

"Please?" he begged, and I felt his manhood pressing into my back, "I need you now. Please."

I rolled over to argue with him, but he took that as a consent and kissed as forcefully and clumsily as ever. I sighed. It wasn't worth arguing about anyway…He rolled on top of me, and before ten minutes had passed it was done. Afterwards he was subdued, and when I asked him what was the matter, he replied, "It wasn't the same."

_It wasn't the same!_ What a thing to say! 

The next day he was back at his easel, working on another painting. I saw the ruined one, which, thankfully, was not the one with Parn's alternate and me. It was another woman, but her features were unrecognizable; he had slashed the canvas several times with his knife. "What are you doing?" I asked him.

"Oh…Julia. I'm working on another…painting. I'm sorry, but I don't think I love you anymore. I should have made it so that you were alone in the painting, then you would love only me, but it's too late. Still, it doesn't matter. This one will be more beautiful than even you."

"You…don't love me anymore?" I heard myself say the words, but it didn't sound like me.

"I'm sorry. It's not you; it's me. It must be my fault you're like this, that I can't love you."

"Like what?" I demanded.

"Well…last night it wasn't as good as it usually is, and I think that's because you didn't really want to do it. It's my fault; I must have made some sort of mistake. It needs correcting."

And that was it. He had taken me away from my beloved, only to set me aside like an old pair of shoes when I had begun to love him back. He had taken my virginity, my happiness, and, essentially, my life. And I was stuck here. 

Later we both boarded Blackstone One, sitting on separate sides. I know Maximilian must have noticed, but he didn't mention it…poor, innocent boy. He had no idea what he had cost me by bringing Parn that paint. I don't blame him…I don't even blame Parn. Indeed, I feel sorry for him. If he needs a painting of a woman to find love, then he is pitiful indeed. And Parn, if you are reading this, don't be too angry with me. My anger for you has cooled, and I still care for you. I hope you are happy with your new woman…I just wish I could go back to the canvas to be with my man. 

Now Parn lives in Balance Valley. The day he got off the train and left me, he looked back. I'm not sure why, and I can only guess what was going through his head. Then he turned his back on his past…and on me. He had made his choice. I settled in Viniccio, the town on the beach. I should be happy here, but all I can think of is my other world…and my other Parn, my true love; the one who loved me back. I wrote earlier that this was to be my first and last entry, and now I will explain why. Maximilian is on a quest to save the world, but soon I leave on a quest of my own…to find a way to put myself back in the painting. If I can't find a way…then I guess I'll just have to make a life for myself here.

I wonder if the Parn in my home world is missing me right now…I wonder if the Parn in this world misses me, or if he found happiness with his newest creation. If he has, then at least one of us has.

Author's Note:_ This is just my take on what might have happened between Julia and Parn. I noticed that after he had gotten her, he seemed to get bored pretty quick, and I wondered what happened. Then I thought, if the game doesn't tell you, they must mean for you to draw your own conclusions…right? Well, these are mine. Now for my little disclaimer…I OWN NOTHING!!!! That's all I'm gonna say, Squaresoft, so nyah! And now for the fun part; This is all I'm going to write on the subject of Julia and Parn. I won't write about Julia's quest or Parn's new girl…that is up to you! This is my fanfic challenge. Someone, anyone, may continue where I left off, and control Julia's…or even Parn's destiny. Ta-ta! ^_^_


End file.
